The Black Star (Book 3) (46 page)

As soon as it was light enough to get his bearings, he walked into the crisp morning. A quarter mile across the water, smoke hung over the city. A few dozen islets scattered this corner of the lake. Lolligan's five-story estate wasn't the biggest on the islands, but it was easy enough to spot. Blays hopped in a rowboat and paddled over, oars stirring the smell of fresh water with each stroke.

A servant met him on Lolligan's dock. "Are we expecting you?"

"Oh, I doubt it." Blays climbed out and stretched his legs. "Unless Lolligan's even spookier than I thought, Jeffers."

Jeffers' jaw dropped. "Lord...Pendelles?"

Blays put a finger to his lips. "Shh. If my last mission was hush-hush, consider this one so quiet that a dog would ask you to speak up."

"I understand, my lord. As much as I am able, when it comes to anything concerning you. Please, follow me."

Jeffers hiked up the steps and circled the building. Around back, a door led to a little-used cellar. Inside, he lit a lantern, showed Blays to a chair, and headed back outside, careful to close the door behind him. Blays considered hiding beside the doorway and leaping out as soon as it opened—he would never have a better chance to take Lolligan by surprise—but the man was around that age where people were apt to drop dead clutching their heart.

Lolligan stepped inside, his avian features even sharper in the morning light. He shielded his eyes, adjusting to the darkness, and clumped down the steps. "Sweet Arawn, I thought Jeffers had finally gone senile. What fresh disaster have you brought me this time?"

"None, for once." Blays bounced from his chair and wrapped the old man in a hug. "At least, nothing that ought to splash back on you."

"Where in all the hells have you been?"

"Eluding Dante."

"So Taya said." Lolligan backed up the stairs to close the door, then swept the dust from a chair and sat. "Does your presence mean it's finally safe for you to emerge from hibernation?"

"You will be completely unsurprised to learn I'm here to deal with an emergency. Which we can get to in a second. For now, tell me everything that's happened. Is Taya all right?"

"She's fine." Lolligan smoothed his trim white beard into a point. "Getting out of Setteven, they had a hell of a ride and a bit of a fight, but they made off with the king's payment. We concluded it would be best to lie low for a while. Last two months, we've been smuggling as much bossen into the capital as we dare."

"Given that I haven't heard the unmistakable sound of a crumbling palace, I take it Moddegan's fortune remains intact."

"As far as I know. But he's been in no hurry to sell off his stock. Even if we're not in position to pop the bubble, we can make it droop."

"So we won't lop off his head, but we may give him a pinch in the neck." Blays sighed. "I'm sorry I let you down."

"Indeed. If only you hadn't been hunted through space and time by a monomaniacal nethermancer of hideous power." Lolligan pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. "I don't know anything about your present situation. But I do know we could still use you."

"Would if I could," Blays said.

"But you've become enmeshed in another outlandish contretemps. As is your way. Will you at least give me a hint?"

"Would you believe me if I said Pocket Cove?"

Lolligan was silent a moment, then laughed. "Only because it's you. Please, please tell me you're not here to seek sanctuary from them."

"I would never do that to you. On the other hand, you do have a very nice cellar to hide in." At that moment, Blays sneezed; the space was musty and damp. "Do you know Dennever? Of the Stotts family?"

"We trade in similar routes."

"Heard about his son?"

"Cal?" Lolligan said. "Went missing, yes? You aren't involved, are you?"

"In his disappearance? Of course not. I'm here to find him." Blays leaned forward. "You have to keep this under your tongue, but we think he's been taken. By a woman from Narashtovik."

"Tallivand?"

"You know her? Can you tell me anything about her?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. She came asking about Dennie's interests a few weeks back. Assumed she was looking to butter him up, or propose a deal of some kind, but otherwise, I didn't think much of it at the time. Then I saw her in town again a couple days ago."

Blays' pulse leapt. "Where?"

"Stepping into a carriage around the back of the Rotterdun estate. He's a friend of mine. Want me to check into it for you?"

"Would you? I'd prefer to keep a low profile until it's time to leap out from the shrubs."

Lolligan nodded. "It might help if I knew what all this was about."

"Obviously, it's not that I don't trust you." Blays sighed through his nose. "But it's not just about me. The person who brought me here has much more to lose."

"Like her favor for you?" The old man grinned. "Don't worry, your new secrets are as safe as your old ones."

"As always, thank you. Is Taya in town?"

"She's in Setteven. Would you like me to send her a letter?"

"Not now. But next time you write, let her know I'm safe and well."

He headed out to the dock and rowed to Wending's main passenger piers. Though he'd spent plenty of time in the city, most of it had been limited to ultra-private meetings in Lolligan's cellar, and he had few worries he'd be recognized, either as Lord Pendelles or Blays Buckler. Even so, as he entered the bustling flow of people stepping off and on to ferries and two-person taxi boats, he made sure his collar was up and his hair was mussed, glad he'd let himself get good and shaggy during his stay in Pocket Cove.

He went from taxi man to taxi man, describing the woman who called herself Tallivand, rustling the boatmen's memories with Dennie's slush fund. Most knew nothing. Others couldn't come up with more than a vague match for the description. This didn't surprise Blays. The fact they handled high volumes of traffic was the very reason he'd come to canvass them. At the same time, it was maddening to hear so many possible matches to his search. Even if he could run down each one (and the boatmen rarely remembered where they'd deposited their fares, let alone when), doing so would take days. Minn's time here was limited. So, perhaps, was Cal's.

At midday, he retired to a public house to eat lunch and reassess his approach. Logically, Tallivand must be operating from relatively nearby. Close enough to correspond with Dennie. And to deliver severed fingers before they'd gone rotten. Almost certainly, she was somewhere in Gallador Rift. Probably not in Wending itself, however. Too dangerous. That meant boat travel. Thus his querying of the taxis. Whom he'd far from exhausted.

He set back to work, including more questions pertinent to her being from Narashtovik—they had their own accent, and tended to dress in more fur, among other distinguishing characteristics. The city was far enough from Gallador to make visitors somewhat scarce. This turned up a few leads, which he duly followed up on, trotting through the sloped streets to call on shops and tradesmen and the city's voluminous library. But by the end of the day, with nothing solid in hand, he returned to Dennie's home more exhausted than the day before.

"Make any progress with the blood?" he asked Minn as they sat down to eat.

"No more than you did at the docks."

"I inquired with the messenger," Dennie said. "Not surprisingly, the box was brought to him for final delivery by a third party. He had a description of the man, but no name."

"And still nothing from Tallivand?" Blays said.

Dennie poked at his seared whitefish, swirling his fork through the pureed basil sauce. "No. She knows that the longer she waits, the further my will to resist decays."

A fine dinnertime conversation. After, they had a couple drinks, but Blays was even less inclined to talk about himself than Minn was, and while he got the impression Dennie would have been happy to discuss his enterprise under different circumstances, the man had more on his mind than business. They soon retired to their rooms.

Blays was slow to wake. Possibly because he was less than enthused about another day of running up and down the fishy-smelling piers. When he finally rousted himself and went downstairs for tea, there was a letter waiting from Lolligan requesting his presence as soon as he was able.

He gulped down a mug of tea while it was still scalding and rowed straight to Lolligan's. Up on the porch, Jeffers nodded at him and went inside. Blays headed to the cellar. Lolligan joined him shortly.

"I spoke to Rotterdun," Lolligan said. "At first he was a bit cagey, but when I told him it was related to the disappearance, he confirmed Tallivand had been to see him."

"You mean recently?"

He nodded. "Last month, he allowed her to see his library. Discussion wandered to the subject of histories and he mentioned one that snagged her ear. She wanted to buy it, but he'd loaned it to a friend who was away on business in Tantonnen. Two weeks ago, Rotterdun let her know his friend would be back soon. She returned to complete the purchase four days ago."

"In person? She's either very bold or very obsessed."

"There was quite a large sum on the line. He got the impression she was there to confirm its edition for herself." He leaned forward and glanced around, mock-conspiratorial. "There's more. When she left, she forgot her coat. It was a few minutes before anyone noticed. Rotterdun dispatched a servant to the piers, but by the time the man got there, her vessel was already plowing across the lake."

"Tell me he remembers the boat."

Lolligan grinned. "The
Blind Eye
. Known, suitably enough, for its discretion."

Blays clapped, the report echoing from the stone walls. "About time I had a bit of luck. Make sure Rottendun's man gets a raise."

He all but ran out of the cellar, then rowed into the city so fast it was a wonder his boat didn't take to the air like a rotund wooden eagle. He'd never heard of the
Blind Eye
, but he easily bought info on its berthage from one of the other boatsmen. It was currently out on the lakes dropping off a well-heeled passenger. Blays settled in at a pub on the docks and treated himself to a beer while he waited for his ship to come in.

That took all day and half the evening. As dusk encored, with fish breaking the surface to nibble at the few flies alive this time of year, an unmarked sloop slipped up to the pier and tied off. Blays finished his beer—just his third, he needed to stay sharp-witted—and headed toward the
Blind Eye
.

A gangplank connected it to the dock. Blays started up, but a man loomed on the other end. "Sure you're on the right ship?"

"I'm here to see Captain Kessel," Blays said. "So unless he's left your vessel for another fair lady of the lakes, I'm pretty sure I've got my mark."

"Who shall I tell him is here?"

Blays jangled his purse. "Opportunity."

The man snorted and headed toward the single deck at the aft. To avoid attention, Blays had left his sword at Dennie's, but he found himself regretting his caution. He had brought knives, though. He never didn't have knives.

The sailor returned, wordlessly gestured Blays aboard, and led him to the captain's cabin. This was as cramped as they always were, wallpapered with maps of the lakes and the channels connecting them. No other records were visible.

Blays closed the door, but declined a seat on the bench/shelf that ran along the wall. "I'm here about one of your passengers."

"What passengers?" Captain Kessel was younger than Blays expected, maybe no older than Blays himself. He had a burn scar on the left side of his jaw and looked as lean and mean as a lake pike.

"Just one. A woman named Tallivand."

The man regarded him blankly. "I repeat,
what
passengers? This is a fishing trawler."

"Captain, while I have nothing but respect for the value you place on your passengers' privacy—"

"Do you? Then turn around and walk off my boat."

Blays stepped forward. "One of your nonexistent passengers kidnapped the family of someone close to me. Putting me in the unfortunate position of giving a shit. I can see that if I tried to bribe you, you would laugh at me. If I threatened you, you'd probably try to stab me, and I'd have to kill you before I learned what I want to know."

Kessel sniffed. "Then it sounds like walking away is even smarter than it was a minute ago."

"Yep," Blays said. "But I never was too smart."

They eyed each other. Blays made no move, but Kessler was canny enough to pick up something in his face. The corner of the captain's mouth twitched. His backside was leaned against a compact table thick with charts. He lunged forward, driving a two-pronged drafting compass at Blays' throat.

Blays stepped forward and to the man's right, draping his left hand over the man's incoming wrist and guiding it past his body. In the same movement, he slammed a right hook into the side of the captain's head. The man sprawled to the ground. Still holding his wrist, Blays stomped Kessel's shoulder and twisted his arm until the compass dropped from his slackening grasp.

"Despite all evidence to the contrary, I respect you," Blays said, breathing hard. "Now respect that I can break your arm with a twitch."

The pressure of Blays' weight on his shoulder smushed Kessel's face to the boards of the floor. "Bones heal. When my crew gets to you, your spine won't."

"The woman I want is a kidnapper. If she doesn't get what
she
wants, I expect to discover she's a murderer as well. I doubt that means much to you. Because you've got your own code. Following that to the end—that's what you value."

He laughed. "Are you about to tell me how we're both the same?"

"I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

Kessel's shoulder relaxed beneath his foot. "Get to the point or let me up so I can finish what I started."

It was Blays' turn to laugh. "Staying silent doesn't protect your code. All it protects is someone who deserves my wrath."

"Buy me a beer."

"A beer?"

"Buy me a beer," Kessel repeated slowly. "And I'll drop you right on her doorstep."